Miriam and the Stranger (6 page)

“I will gladly tell you what I can about the generosity of the Clarita community following the tornadoes,” Mr. Westree had responded somewhat coolly.

He would have to dig here too, Tyler told himself, but unless there was corruption hidden somewhere, he doubted he would find anything of interest. And how was corruption possible? Surely in such a sleepy community, things must run aboveboard. Crimes and misdemeanors seemed unlikely, but he would still ask. Perhaps he would be stonewalled, but there were ways around such things. If he could land a scoop out of his digging, so much the better. So far in his freelance writing career, all the really juicy scoops had eluded him. Likely the same would happen here. The Amish were too honest to have some sordid scandal associated with the relief fund. Still, how did they manage to donate so much money?

Tyler pulled to a stop at Highway 48. This was the main drag running north and south near Clarita and through the Amish community. He’d gathered from his conversations the other evening with Mr. Byler that Amish farms lay on either side of the highway. Tyler slowed as the greenhouse came into view, but he didn’t stop. Too much of an invasion of anyone’s privacy wasn’t decent. Maybe he should stop by the schoolhouse and say hello to the schoolteacher. How would that go? Miriam might no longer be the flustered woman he had seen the other evening—but in a way, that would be a disappointment. It was refreshing to find a woman who could act so bashful and be so unaware of his trust-fund money. Nor would Miriam be impressed if she did know. Likely the girl had never possessed more than a thousand dollars in her bank account at any given time. If she even had a bank account.

Tyler sobered at the thought. He should squelch his fantasies of Amish schoolteachers with sterling character qualities. He’d only corrupt their virtues with close contact. Still, he had to admit, he did find Miriam irresistible in some strange way. He would speak with her again, somehow, somewhere. Tyler slowed for another
turn and moments later pulled into Deacon Phillips’s driveway. Two buggies were parked beside the barn, and Tyler pulled in beside them. He climbed out to survey his rental car—the best SUV the agency owned. The car gleamed in the morning sunlight. The contrast with the two dark-clothed buggies couldn’t have been starker.
Which about sums up the situation,
Tyler told himself.

Deacon Phillips’s voice called from the barn door behind Tyler and pulled him out of his reverie. “Howdy there, Mr. Johnson.
Gut
to see you again.”

“And you too.” Tyler turned around to smile. The open friendliness of these people still surprised him. “Hope I’m not taking up too much of your time this morning.”

“
Ach,
no!” Deacon Phillips exclaimed. “The Lord has given us the whole day, has He not?”

Tyler chuckled as Deacon Phillips continued. “We can speak in the barn unless you want comfortable seating on the couch in the living room.”

Tyler grinned. “The barn is fine. I’ll try not to keep you long.”

Deacon Phillips opened the door wide. “Then come on in, and I’ll finish putting down the straw for the horse stalls. You can ask all the questions you want while I work.”

“Maybe I can help,” Tyler offered.

Deacon Phillips laughed. “We wouldn’t want an
Englisha
man’s fancy clothing messed up, now, would we?”

“I guess not,” Tyler agreed. He looked down at his jeans, practically new and of the latest style and cut. No, he would not like to have them damaged by farm work.

The deacon seemed oblivious to Tyler’s introspection as he spread straw with both hands. “So what were these questions you have about the relief fund?”

Tyler cleared his throat. He might as well get right to the point. “It’s become public record that more than two million dollars was
donated by the Amish community. Could you give me details on where those funds came from? That seems like a huge amount coming from such a small and… well… unwealthy group of people.”

Deacon Phillips didn’t answer for a moment. “Well, first of all, I regret that such records were kept by the relief fund people, much less made public, but of course we cannot control such things. I had hoped the Lord would reward those who gave in secret. As you likely know, we shun the knowledge of man when it comes to our generosity.”

Tyler cleared his throat again. “I suppose that’s a nice sentiment to have, but it’s a little unrealistic, don’t you think?”

Deacon Phillips shrugged. “In this world perhaps, but we seek to live by the Lord’s laws.”

Tyler glanced at the barn floor for a second. He might as well ask the question. “This amount of two million dollars. Did that sum come from the community locally, or were there donors from out of state?”

Deacon Phillips reached for another bale of straw. “You know, I’d rather not answer the question.”

“But surely you can tell me that much.” Tyler held his breath for a moment.

“Well,
yah
,” Deacon Phillips finally allowed. “Some of the funds came from Possum Valley. A vanload of men came out during that time to help rebuild.”

“In what amount?” Tyler pressed on. “The community here doesn’t seem that prosperous. Or am I missing something?”

“The Lord provided.” Deacon Phillips gave Tyler a sharp glance.

Clearly he had been pushed far enough, but Tyler couldn’t resist. “Would you give me the names of the major donors?”

Deacon Phillips shook out the straw bale vigorously before he said, “That person wishes to remain hidden, and I ask you to respect her privacy.”

Tyler tried to hide his delight. “So there was one person, and a woman at that? Perhaps an elderly widow who left her property for the storm relief?”

Deacon Phillips’s face reddened. “I’m sorry, Mr. Johnson. I shouldn’t have told you that information. I’m not used to talking about these things. Forgive me for saying this much.”

“That’s okay,” Tyler told him. Further questions appeared useless. The deacon had clammed up, his lips set in a firm line. “Thank you for your time, then,” Tyler offered with a smile. “I really shouldn’t be keeping you.”

“You will remember the Lord’s ways,” Deacon Phillips told him. The look on the deacon’s face showed more hope than expectation.

Tyler pushed his surge of guilt aside. “I thank you again, Deacon Phillips. May the Lord bless you.”

“And you too.” But Deacon Phillips didn’t appear too happy.

I am a hypocrite,
Tyler thought, as he beat a hasty retreat. But a story was a story, and this could prove a good one if he could find further details. His editor would love the tale of a widowed Amish woman who left her life savings to storm relief instead of to her children or grandchildren… if such was the case. And surely it was something like that. What else could it have been?

Outside of the barn Tyler’s phone beeped with an incoming text message. He checked to find a note from the chairman of the relief fund, Mr. Westree. “Emergency has occurred. Meeting canceled this afternoon. Apologies.”

There was no emergency, Tyler told himself. Mr. Westree had made no offer to reschedule.

“Well, happy hunting,” Tyler said aloud with a glance toward the sky. “And may the Lord bless me. Looks like I could use it.”

Chapter Six

A
bout the same time Tyler Johnson was leaving Deacon Phillips’s place, Mose Stoll jiggled the reins of the deacon’s horse, Ralph, to get him moving. Mose had borrowed the animal for a tour of the community and was just arriving at Bishop Mullet’s house. He still wasn’t used to the horse’s quirks, such as his penchant for quick starts at stop signs. A deacon shouldn’t drive an unsteady horse, Mose told himself. He hoped it wouldn’t reflect on the deacon’s character.

The last few days had crept past slowly. Mose wasn’t used to all this idle time, but he supposed the downtime was necessary if he wished to marry the schoolteacher, Miriam Yoder. He should relax, Mose told himself. His farm back in Wayne County was in the capable hands of his brother, and so far his time here in this small community had borne fruit. No one had given him a negative answer when he asked questions. Still, at times he wondered why he had traveled all the way out here to find a wife.
There were single girls and widows available at home within easier reach. It had been Glen Weaver’s glowing testimony of Miriam’s character that had brought him here. Of course, his conversation with Miriam’s
daett
had drawn him in deeper. The family seemed endowed with an outstanding head of the family. And so he had to check out the matter with a trip to meet Miriam at least. How could he go wrong with that choice? From the reports, Miriam seemed incapable of wrongdoing. Miriam was no raving beauty, but she wasn’t bad looking either. Far from it. Outward beauty had been made by the Lord, Mose reminded himself as he pushed the thought away. But the Scriptures said such things faded with time, and beauty of the heart was the desired virtue. That was why he had traveled so many miles and thankfully hadn’t been disappointed. He would ask more questions of the bishop today. The man might know a fault of Miriam’s that had escaped the notice of everyone else. Hopefully the matter wouldn’t be a deal breaker. What a shame to have traveled all these miles and have his hopes raised only to return to Wayne County empty-handed. Perhaps a few chuckles would circulate in his home community over his travails, but he could live with that. The important thing was to choose a
frau
who walked in the fear of the Lord.

“Whoa there,” Mose called to Ralph as he pulled into Bishop Mullet’s driveway. With a shake of his head, the horse stopped beside the barn. Mose climbed down to tie him to the hitching post. The knot secure, Mose approached the barn door. Faint noises were coming from inside, and Mose stepped inside to holler, “Anybody home?”

The bishop’s voice came from the back of the barn. “Over here, working on some stalls.”

Mose found his way past the cow stanchions and greeted the bishop with a smile. “Hard at work, eh?”

“As always.” The bishop chuckled. “I see you arrived just in time for lunch.”

Mose laughed. “Guilty. I’ve been out touring the community and surely enjoyed it. Worked up an appetite, though.”

Bishop Mullet picked up another board to size it up. “So what are your conclusions?”

“About what?” Mose hedged. “The church or…” He couldn’t say Miriam’s name out loud. Not in the bishop’s presence. Not yet, at least.

Bishop Mullet grinned. “I’m thinking the two are tied up in your mind.”

“I suppose so,” Mose allowed. “But that’s how it should be, don’t you think?”

“Of course,” Bishop Mullet said at once. “Although Miriam really has nothing to do with our Amish church life out here on the prairie.”

“But I’m going partly by your approval of her,” Mose shot back.

“True enough,” Bishop Mullet agreed. “Now we’re back to my original question. What do you think of us?”

Mose shrugged. “It’s hard to tell in so short a time.”

Bishop Mullet gave him a sharp glance. “Don’t beat around the bush with me, Mose. You have eyes in the back of your head, unless I miss my guess.”

Mose allowed the feeling of pleasure to sink in for a moment before he answered. “I take that as a compliment, and
yah
, I do have some questions about your practice of tractor farming and about your small number of young people. Where have they all gone? Have you been losing many of them to the world?”

Bishop Mullet’s face shadowed. “I wish I could say we’re perfect in keeping our youth, but we did lose two more young men last fall, the Mark Yoder boys. They left about the same time, for
the usual reasons, I suppose—lusting for the world and its allure. But beyond that, we’ve managed by the Lord’s grace to keep our young people in the community.”

Mose shrugged. “Not perfect, as you say, but not a cause for great concern. We lose ten to twenty percent in any given year. Each loss tears at our hearts, but a man must make his own choice.”

“Very true,” Bishop Mullet agreed. “And we sorrow here also. Now on the tractor farming subject,
yah
, we do farm with tractors. That change in the
Ordnung
was pushed on us by the soil conditions, which are out of our control. We felt like…”

Mose held up his hand. “I know. Deacon Phillips already filled me in. I don’t agree, but it’s a local matter and shouldn’t affect my interest in Miriam.”